


And All Is Well

by Jac_Danvers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen, Post - Deathly Hallows
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-08
Updated: 2013-07-08
Packaged: 2017-12-18 02:00:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 967
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/874401
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jac_Danvers/pseuds/Jac_Danvers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She counts down the days until the full moon arrives, in invisible ink so her mother doesn't know. Everyone tells Victoire her family is safe, but when the moon lights up the sky, she has her doubts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And All Is Well

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of the wonderful JK Rowling.

[](http://tinypic.com?ref=2emj6h4)  


**Ten o’clock and all is well…**

New – crescent – half – _full._

 

Victoire tracked it on her calendar. Scrawled in childish handwriting, in invisible ink so her mother would never know, she tracked it every month. Once every thirty days, or twice in a blue moon—she always knew.

 

It was full tonight.

 

**Eleven o’clock and all is well…**

_“Do not worry your pre-zious head, Victoire,” her mother had told her, the one time she dared ask about the origin of her father’s scars. “Ze scars mean only zat your father eez a brave, brave man.”_

But it wasn’t enough. Victoire wanted answers. So with a tenaciousness and determination that would put even her Aunt Hermione to shame, she went one by one through her extended family demanding answers. And when they wouldn’t give them to her, she meticulously poured through her grandmother’s attic, seeking the well kept records of the battle for freedom amidst the childhood memories of her aunt and uncles while they thought she was playing with Teddy in the yard.   

 

In the end, she wished she’d never looked.

 

Because if she never looked, she never would have known the reason why her father sometimes craved raw steak and mountains of bacon. Never would have seen the disparaging articles in the Daily Prophet prejudicing and degrading the victims of werewolf attacks. Never would have seen the picture of Fenrir Greyback snarling, drooling as he leered at her from the pages of the paper, alongside a second picture of his still body lying amongst the rubble of Hogwarts.

 

She would never have known that Fenrir Greyback attacked her father. And now he was part werewolf.

 

**Twelve o’clock and all is well…**

The world was still as the clock struck midnight. The October breeze rushed past the window and the waters on the beach lapped calmly at the sand, as the clear skies over Shell Cottage revealed a perfectly round moon.

 

Victoire never slept when the moon was full.

 

It was Aunt Hermione she went to with her questions. Her mother would have murdered her for prying, but Hermione was always happy to educate those around her. And she was discrete.

 

_“What if someone… you know… someone got bit by a werewolf, but the werewolf wasn’t turned. You know, he wasn’t actually a wolf, just a normal man? Would they be… cursed? Do you think they’d be a werewolf too?”_

**One o’clock and all is well…**

 

She thought she was being vague, but Aunt Hermione had given her a look- she clearly knew what was going on, but wasn’t going to say anything. Once upon a time, she too had been a curious nine year old. 

 

_“Of course not. What on earth makes you think that? They must be the beast for the bite to cause the victim to change. If you read chapter four of Magical Beasts and Where to Find Them...”_

 

It had been a long lecture, ending with a list of books with page numbers that Victoire was supposed to read. So she tackled the books, though half of which were still beyond her comprehension, and momentarily contemplated contacting the war hero Lavender Brown, though she balked at the last moment before she released her mother’s owl with the letter.

 

Everything told her there was nothing to worry about. Everything told her that her father was fine. A bit cursed, maybe, and permanently scarred, but not a danger to anyone.

 

But how were they so sure?

 

**Two o’clock and all is well…**

 

Downstairs, she heard a door creek open slowly. Someone was awake, attempting to move through the house undetected. Victoire knew, without a doubt, that it was her father.

 

He was always restless during the full moon.

 

She loved her father, trusted him beyond anything. She knew he would never do anything to harm her or Dominique or Louis on purpose. But how did he know- how did _anyone_ know- that he would never turn? Aunt Hermione’s books had told her the signs of a werewolf, the ways to fight off a werewolf attack, even of the difficult and dangerous preparation of the wolfsbane potion. But information on those bitten by an unturned werewolf? There was almost nothing.

 

How did they know he’d never turn?

 

**Three o’clock and all is well…**

So she sits, ever full moon, watching over her family. Protecting the ones she loves most, the way it seemed every generation of Weasley protected their loved ones. Wrapped in her covers, tucked in the window, with a hundred thousand stars as her witness, she watches over them, waiting to give a cry of warning to escape the house, to hide in the cellar, to somehow hide from the man who loved and raised them.

 

**Four o’clock and all is well…**

 

‘Til the moment the cursed, golden orb fades into the horizon, seemingly sinking into the sea, she waits for her brave yet terrifying, scarred yet loving father to return. Creeping through the pantry door to a hushed whisper of welcome, she knows she is not alone.

 

**Five o’clock and all is well…**

 

Because she isn’t the only one listening to the tick-tick-tock of the grandfather clock, waiting for the night to end. As she awaits the first vestiges of sunlight and the knowledge that the beast remains a figment of her imagination, she hears two sets of footsteps up the stairs. Through the crack in the door, she observes the shadowy embrace of her parents, the relief in their voices that another night has passed unscathed.

 

**Six o’clock and all is well…**

 

The sun fully up, they never speak of it. Her father stares at her mother. Her mother stares at her. They all know the truth. The unspoken fear.

 

With the rising of the sun, one cycle ends, and another begins. 

**Author's Note:**

> Constructive criticism is always greatly appreciated. Best wishes! -Jac


End file.
